


All This Time

by S_Faith



Series: Into the Fire [2]
Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Teacher/Student Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2019-11-25 20:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18170912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: Revisiting an alternate universe scenario just to fan the flames of a bit of fantasy.





	All This Time

**Author's Note:**

> When [Into the Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18168800) was posted, I had at least one comment about how hot the idea of the student/teacher thing was… and what a bad idea it was in reality. So what if there was instead a little roleplaying after the fact?
> 
> Disclaimer: It is my little universe, not my characters, whom I continue to draw upon for inspiration because I adore them.

"It's a bit weird, isn't it? Being back after all this time?"

He laughed. "'All this time'," he said. "You make it sound like it's been decades."

"It's been five years," she returned. "That's… almost twenty per cent of my life."

He chuckled. "I suppose in that perspective—"

"Oh! We should visit the old room," she said suddenly. "I have fond memories of many a morning spent in that room."

"You are becoming quite the revisionist as the years go on," he said dubiously. 

"You're so mean to me today," she said with a little pout. 

He leaned forward and kissed her. "You are though," he said. "You were always late and your essays, while quite clever, prided themselves on flaunting the guidelines."

She pursed her lips. "Meanie," she said. "My memories were fond because you were there."

At this his heart melted, just as it had countless times since he realised he was irrevocably in love with her—a love that had had its nascent days in a university classroom, and while he had never done anything inappropriate while she'd been his student, it still somehow made him somewhat uncomfortable to think anyone else might have thought so.

"Let's go. _Please_."

He looked at her—bright blue eyes, pale pink shimmer on her smiling lips, expectant expression—and he knew there was no denying her this. "All right. But if it's in use, we're not going in, and if it's locked, forget it."

"Thank you," she said, looking a bit smug.

Returning to the building, the lecture hall, in which he had held his human rights class was a bit strange for him. Fortunately the building seemed to be quite devoid of life and the room itself was not in use, though the door was slightly ajar and thus unlocked. He ensured the door closed behind him.

"Seems so much bigger when there's no one in here," she commented quietly. "Here, I'll sit in my old seat and you go stand in the front."

He did as she asked and as he glanced up to her he could not help but think of the many class sessions in which they interacted. He smiled to her as she smiled to him.

"I have bad news," she said.

"What? Bad news?"

She nodded. "I'm afraid to say it, but I can say now without a shadow of doubt that my sitting here and you standing there is definitely at the root of my crush on you."

He grinned, wondering if the nature of the classroom, the way the lecture hall was constructed, put her head far above his own, so she was essentially looking down on him, had contributed to her feelings in any way. Out of curiosity, he asked her.

This made her chuckle. "I suppose that's something to do with it, though I never realised consciously—I just like the way you look striding around down there looking all… _authoritative_."

His brows rose; the evident thrill in her tone was unexpected. "So does that mean you were difficult on purpose?" he asked, teasing. 

"I wasn't," she said. "Just opinionated."

"Okay, not difficult so much as deliberately provocative," he said, then realised his error as soon as he said it. "I mean—"

It was too late; she was already laughing. "Oh, yes. 'Professor Darcy,'" she began in a bit of a sing-song, "'how does freedom and quality in Africa compare to the first three buttons of my shirt being undone?'" As she said it, she flipped said buttons open, revealing a very lacy undergarment.

"Bridget," he said, then cleared his throat. "That's quite enough."

This was also the wrong thing to say, as she grinned in a very devilish way. "'Perhaps the suffrage movement would have gained greater acceptance sooner if skirts had gone higher, faster.'" She scooted in her chair and hiked her miniskirt up so far he could see her pants and the curve of her arse.

This was getting a bit strange, but he couldn't say it wasn't having an effect on him, especially considering that seeing her sitting there now was bringing back vivid memories of her passionate opinions in the classroom… memories which would be in future inexorably entwined with this private scene.

"I will not tolerate this in my classroom, Miss Jones," he said, surprising even himself with the solemnity of his tone, and then with the words he spoke next: "I'll need you to stay after class."

Her eyes twinkled. "Yes, Professor."

He strode towards her, then up the incline and closer to where she sat, shifting the balance of power so that he towered over her.

"So what's my punishment, Master Abelard?" she asked in a quiet voice.

The peril of loving a woman who was fond of all things literary and poetic meant that he understood the reference of Abelard and Heloise, the former being the teacher of the latter. He had been responsible for disciplining her when she was naughty and subsequently fell in love with her, eliciting more of the same when she misbehaved on purpose because she craved his touch…

With hardly a conscious thought his fingertips reached out to touch her cheek; she leaned into his hand, closing her eyes, smiling serenely before looking up at him with smoky eyes. "Door's locked, isn't it?" she asked.

He was certain it was; he knew that the door locked unless one flipped a switch otherwise on the handle. He nodded almost imperceptibly. In response her hand moved to his hip and grasped it, then let go to trace a line around to his thigh, then brushed across the fly on his trousers. Why this surprised him, he couldn't say; why else should she have asked whether the door was locked? 

She then rose to stand, placed her arms around his neck, then pointedly looked down to the front of the lecture hall. "What do you say?" she asked seductively. "Shall we get it out of our system?"

He reined in his features from betraying anything but a grave seriousness. "That would be most improper," he scolded, placing his hands on her waist. "For even making such a suggestion you will have to be punished."

She pursed her lips, leaning into him, her eyes twinkling; her perfume tantalisingly teased at his senses. "I suppose I deserve it," she said. "Be gentle with me."

"Come with me," he commanded, taking her hand in his; he then walked briskly toward the lecture arena, pulling her a little roughly behind him. When he got to the desk, he turned abruptly to face her, saying nothing, just gazing intently into her eyes.

Then his hands were on her face, framing her beautiful, perfect half-angel-half-devil expression. He lowered his head to kiss her, and she welcomed it; her arms came up to encircle his neck just as his hands slid down to take her around the waist, grasping gently at her backside and roaming along her spine. As they kissed he felt her slowly turning them around; as she stepped back, pulling him along with her, he suspected what her intentions might be, which were proven right when she stopped short as her arse met the desk.

She drew away, placed a lingering kiss on his throat. "Do you know what I want?" she asked in a slightly shivering voice. 

"I don't think there's any question," he said. His hands released her, dropped down to her thighs, searched for the bottom of her skirt then lifted it up. At the feel of his fingertips on the soft skin there, she gasped, and gasped again when he moved them up to the top edge of her pants. She arched away from the desk and into him to allow room for him to slip them off, but he instead tapped her on the bottom with a gentle smack. "Naughty, disobedient pupils don't get what they want, but what they deserve."

Her mouth dropped open, forming an O. The little moan that accompanied the pat, however, surprised him. "I am very naughty," she said throatily.

"Bridget," he said firmly. "We should go back to—"

He was going to suggest they return to Patrick's home, with whom they were staying, but she interrupted. "Do I just have to be naughtier?"

She proceeded to demonstrate by reaching to pull her own pants down over her hips. They dropped to the floor; she hopped up to sit on the desk then reached for Mark, taking his hip in her grasp with one hand to pull him closer and reaching for his trouser fly with the other. After a quick tug down she drove her fingers into the fabric divide, pulling him free, causing him to grunt; when she started stroking him he could feel chills come over him, could feel the sweat bead on his forehead. "Bridget," he said feebly; this was not the right venue, not at all. "Stop."

She only grinned devilishly and increased the pressure and speed with which her fingers were working. He had no power to stop her, no power to walk away, and as always, simply gave in. As he was about to lean in to kiss her, push her hand away and guide himself to thrust into her, she leaned forward and in a smooth manoeuvre opened her lips and took him in her mouth.

He tried to restrain the moan that issued from him, but he had little control over his actions when she pleasured him in this way, coupled with the feel of her fingers digging into his arse. He said her name once, twice, with increasing tremulousness in his voice, his hips rocking forward quite against his will.

Just as he thought he might not be able to contain himself any longer, she stopped. Lids he hadn't realised he'd closed flew opened to look at her; she was grinning once more. Before he had a chance to ask, she said, "You told me to stop."

"You're a devil," he muttered in a gravelly voice, then leaned over, pushed her back. As she clung to him he took her as he'd wanted to, moaning again as he felt her beneath him, around him. The heights of his arousal (and her own) meant it took very little time to reach his climax; he had no doubts at all that the same was true for her as well, confirmed in short order when she cried out softly into his shoulder.

He fought the urge to fall forward beside her onto the desk, as much as he would have liked to do so; he was completely exhausted from his efforts. Instead, after giving her a sweet, tender kiss, he rose to stand upright, pulled her to a sitting position, then tended to his trousers before sitting beside her. He put his arm around her shoulders, touched her jaw with his opposite hand then drew her face up to gently to kiss her.

"I feel like we've just completed some kind of circle," she whispered, trailing her fingers over his cheek, before leaning to rest her forehead against his cheek.

He was still recovering his breath so he nodded. He knew she'd be able to feel him do so. "Though this was completely wrong of us to do," he went on, his voice levelling out as he tugged her skirt back down into place across her thighs; "This is a higher institute of education, a place of learning—"

He stopped short when he realised she was laughing a little. 

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"You are," she said, "scolding me for real."

With sternness in his tone, he teased, holding her shoulder tightly, "Perhaps I should _spank_ you for real."

She burst out with a giggle then lunged forward, threaded her nails into his hair and kissed him once more with a mounting passion, leaning as if she might crawl up to straddle his lap—

"There you are! I should have guessed."

The sudden presence of a third voice, especially a familiar one, startled Mark, particularly as he had been sure the door had been locked. "Hello, Patrick," he said with as much calm as he could muster. Bridget rapidly stood and shuffled her feet a little—her pants were, after all, still on the floor.

"Having a nice time reminiscing about class?" Patrick asked, grinning broadly.

"We were, yes," Mark said. Bridget nodded her concurrence.

"Glad for it—it's been a while," he said. "Lily's expecting us back for dinner, so if you're all through with your nostalgia…"

Since it was a special dinner in honour of their recent engagement, it wouldn't do to keep Patrick's wife waiting. "Yes, yes, of course we are."

Mark stood, smoothing down the legs of his trousers just as Bridget did the same with the front of her skirt. He wondered how she might finesse retrieving her pants without notice when Patrick spoke again.

"Oh, and Bridget," he said amiably, "don't forget to grab your knickers."

Mark alternately blanched then blushed from tip to toe. Bridget blushed too and offered Patrick a smile before scooping up the tiny garment, stuffing them into her purse; he was sure he wanted her to put them back on sooner rather later, as the presence of the pants in her purse would certainly serve as a distraction throughout dinner. "Sorry," she said, though in all honesty she didn't look sorry at all, with the way her smile turned wicked as her gaze met Mark's, as she took his hand. Quietly she said in a voice that Mark dearly hoped did not carry, "Just wanted a bit of an appetiser first."

He changed his mind about her pants; he leaned and murmured something into her ear about dessert that made her skin stain crimson.

_The end._


End file.
